


Xanatos' Gift

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Brain Conditioning, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Gen, Implied Past Non-Con, M/M, Masturbation, Misunderstandings, Non-Consensual Drug Addiction, Past Prostitution, Unhealthy Relationships, Unresearched Withdrawal Symptoms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-03-27 19:57:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13888059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: Qui-Gon thought Obi-Wan died when the Padawan fell down the shaft on Naboo years ago. He also thought Xanatos drowned in acid. Neither apprentice is gone, and now, Xanatos has found a way to torment his former master with what is left of his precious Kenobi.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The damaged Obi-Wan is fixated on a phrase, the implications of which have changed. This is not a suicidal desire, though it might look as such in the early chapters of the story. What's happening? The drugs have made the difference between what the phrase meant before and what it means now inaccessible. What he's really after is the emotional tie it represented in the past. In the beginning, Qui-Gon won't be able to determine the difference, and we see the world through his eyes.
> 
> I felt it deserved a warning, but wasn't sure how to put such a thought in the tags.
> 
> And one last thing: I was rather channeling the old master-slave fics where either Qui-Gon or Obi-Wan were enslaved, came into the possession of the other, and love and sex ensued in spite of the rather blatant consent & power issues. (Oh, the near-mandatory mind wipes...) As I was writing, however, Qui-Gon was putting up a bit of a fight with following that trajectory. I tried informing him we were aiming for something sexy and fiction, not a life role-model, but he's still not cooperating.
> 
> This story may end up as Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan, I do not know yet. If it does, I doubt it will be in a healthy way, even if they both find happiness/a measure of healing therein. Just proceed with caution.

 

The tattoo flowed from behind his ear, down his throat to his chest, where it curled around where skin and bone covered a beating heart.

Qui-Gon could see the achievement and memory beads, all of them accounted for in the simple black artwork.

“Cut my braid, Master?” Obi-Wan asked, kohl-rimmed eyes shifting to his, head tipping back to offer his throat.

Qui-Gon recoiled, horrified by the thin line of Obi-Wan's jugular beneath the upper braid, and his heart below the lower.

Eyes watched him. “You said I was ready.”

“How did you survive?” Qui-Gon rasped. “I  _saw you_ fall down the shaft on Naboo, I saw the Sith  _stab you—_ ”

Obi-Wan's hand trailed down his chest to trace his fingers around the circular scar low on his abdomen. “You saw Xan drown in acid, too, yet he's still here. Your eyes are not quite what they used to be, Master.”

The muscles of Obi-Wan's chest and stomach tensed just a bit as he said the final word, his jaw tipping to the side to offer his throat again, his eyes going glassy with desire.

When the holo transceiver on the bedside table chimed, Qui-Gon gratefully smacked it. He'd expected to find the room he'd been promised at the hotel to be  _empty,_ not filled with a bizarrely-sexual dead apprentice.

Not. Dead.

Not dead. Somehow.

Qui-Gon's eyes bugged when he saw the holo resolve itself into Xanatos. “Have you found my present, Qui-Gon? Oh, good, I see you have.”

Obi-Wan slowly sank to his knees, spreading them, hands sliding to rest on the floor, palms up, gaze settling somewhere around Qui-Gon's belt.

No... not his belt...

“What have you done?” Qui-Gon whispered, horrified by the artificially relaxed, almost lolling Force signature of his once-collected Padawan. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been a private youngling who had matured into a quiet and private young man.

This... this spilling of himself to anyone who might be near to see and hear—

It was too much.

It even overrode the questions he had about how Xanatos had survived the acid.

“I decided to give my dear former master a gift,” Xanatos explained. “You were done with him because he wasn't interesting anymore, so you pursued someone new and more interesting, just as you did with me. But just for you, master, I have  _made him interesting again._ ”

“You damaged his brain!” Qui-Gon hissed.

Obi-Wan licked his lips, hand reaching into the front of his glossy leather pants, as if he couldn't  _see_ Qui-Gon  _right there—_

“Obi-Wan!” Qui-Gon yelped, mortified, but all he received in return was a near-drugged smile, and an offering of his throat again.

Xanatos watched, clearly amused. “He worships the ground you walk on, Master Jinn. I wouldn't take  _that_ from him. I may have enhanced it a bit, even. The sarcasm that undoubtedly plagued you is just about gone, I think. He's certainly more pliable to your will than before, and he has learned many new skills he will be delighted to show you. He also has an odd obsession with you cutting his braid. It means the universe to him.”

A choked moan escaped Obi-Wan as he pressed up into his own hand.

“I don't suppose you will make him suffer long by denying such a reasonable request? He has certainly  _earned_ his knighthood, don't you think—?”

“Where have you  _kept him all these years?_ ” Qui-Gon roared at Xanatos. Seven long, grieved years—

A long sigh from Obi-Wan—

Qui-Gon snapped his gaze to Obi-Wan's heavily lidded one. “Go to the bathroom!”

The ginger complied without once removing his hand from his pants.

The moaning continued through the open doorway.

“Have you touched him,” Qui-Gon growled. The Obi-Wan he had known had the strength of will of a deity, and Qui-Gon couldn't even  _fathom_ what it would have taken to shape him into  _this._

Xanatos shrugged. “Only when he asked. But he was adamant he wanted to become the best of the best for you, and he needed to practice what he was learning, not just in the brothels, but with another Force sensitive.”

“Brothels—” Qui-Gon rasped.

Xanatos looked concerned. “He was paid quite well, and I don't think anyone abused him. He certainly enjoyed his time there and they treated him like a prince. I hope you don't mind me keeping him gainfully employed—? I was sure that once he gathered a form of awareness he would have liked to find himself at work, rather than just lying idle in some hospital bed. When he realized what was happening, he seemed pleased enough.”

“What did you do to him?” Qui-Gon asked, almost unable to breathe. He could sense Anakin's anxiety, suspected his Padawan was coming to find him before Qui-Gon's fingernails could wreck too much damage into his palms. “Drugs? Torture? Sensory deprivation?”

“Oh, tsk, Qui-Gon. I gave him back, didn't I? And in better condition than when I found him, at that, so I've _met_ your requirements for borrowing. See, I  _did_ pay attention to your teaching.”

Obi-Wan's voice spilled from the refresher, a gasping, pleasure-addled cry of, “ _Master—!_ ”

Qui-Gon felt his heart break.

“You think it was amusing to send him to me begging for me to slit his throat or stab him through the heart?”  
Xanatos feigned surprise. “He was distraught over the fact he had no braid. Must have been lost somewhere along the line, between lying for days in the decay of a refuse planet and regaining some form of awareness months later in my care. I'll have you know, I had to take him  _off_ drugs. I'm not responsible for putting him  _on_ them. I unfortunately was not the first to find your little lost Padawan. Not that he was your Padawan anymore. The moment he fell away out of sight, you took another one without a backwards glance. He was anguished over not having a braid, so I gave him one.”

“One that brands a helpful  _demo_ for how to kill a man on his body?”

“It eased his mind, Qui-Gon. I gentled the suffering of an innocent soul. Wasn't that your highest hope for me?  _And_ I returned him to you, in spite of how delectable he is. Aren't we just racking up the selfless points today, Xanatos. I'm praising myself since I know you'll forget to. It's alright. I've learned how to survive in a world where Qui-Gon Jinn has lost all affection for you. I'm not sure Obi-Wan has learned that lesson. I suppose he will have to, and right there in your presence all the while. A shame, I suppose.”

The connection cut, and the door burst open.

“Master!” Anakin cried, springing to his side, the sixteen-year-old clearly alarmed. “What is wrong?”  
The noises in the bathroom stopped.

Something trembled like a heart on the edge of shattering.

Anakin's eyes widened in startled dismay. “Master, is there someone—”

Obi-Wan's face, pale as death, appeared in the doorway. It glistened with either spit or— or something else, and his pants were open, letting his sagging cock hang free. He blinked at Anakin, then turned sad,  _so sad_ eyes to Qui-Gon's face.

Qui-Gon felt the blood drain away from his own skin, felt his own heart throb—

“Your Padawan,” Obi-Wan whispered.

“Yes,  _his Padawan,_ ” Anakin shot back, sending Qui-Gon a shocked look. “Master, why is there a naked spice addict in our room?”

Qui-Gon couldn't tear his gaze away from Obi-Wan's, saw the shattering of the shadow's heart in the blue-gray eyes.

Obi-Wan retreated, the door sliding shut and silence falling.

What had been  _done_ to him? Qui-Gon's heart wailed in pain.

He'd mourned his bright, clever Padawan, but death in battle was something almost bearable compared to  _this._

_Did Xanatos tell him Padawans are expected to serve their masters sexually? Did he wipe his memory? Just how hooked and on_ which  _drugs is Obi-Wan now?_

And how could he make a month-long return flight to the Temple from their mission in Wild Space take  _less time_ ?

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Obi-Wan was in his pants and clean when he next exited the bathroom.

The blood vessels of his eyes were burst, and his nose was red.

Qui-Gon sent Anakin out into the hall, needing to speak with his heartbroken former Padawan without Anakin's jumbled shock and disgust adding to the damaged man's burden.

He stood by the refresher door, head bowed, unable to look up at Qui-Gon.

“I thought you were dead,” Qui-Gon murmured, heart in his throat.

With Obi-Wan silent and no longer writhing, he looked so  _familiar—_

Obi-Wan's head sank lower. “You replaced me,” he whispered. “I have no place now.”

“No, Obi-Wan. You will always have a place with me. Anakin needed a teacher, and I needed a way to survive losing you.”

The younger man still didn't look up at him. “I forgot how to please you. I forgot so many things, when I was injured. I couldn't remember our times together at all. Xan helped me learn again how to please you. I wanted so badly to please you.”

“Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asked, voice carefully gentle, “What did Xanatos say I wanted?”

“You are— were my Master. I your Padawan. My body is yours for pleasure, and when you found me worthy enough, you would cut my braid. I did remember how I longed for you knight me, even if I couldn't remember much else. And how much I craved pleasing you.”

Qui-Gon's throat ran terribly dry. “Xanatos told you I expect—  _want—_ sex from you?”

“It is what all Masters want of their Padawans, and I  _want_ to please you again, like I did before. I don't want to be alone anymore.”

“Obi-Wan, we've  _never_ had sex. You were my responsibility, my charge, I would never betray a minor in my care that way. And even once you reached adulthood, you were still my student. I couldn't engage in sex with you, my heart would not be able to bear the strain of that power inequality.”

Obi-Wan's eyes, the markings around which were tear-streaked, lifted to his. “You have a Padawan again. Of course you don't want me anymore. You don't need me. You have his devotion.”

“Obi-Wan, listen to me very carefully. I have never had sex with Anakin. He is a minor, he is not capable of giving legal consent.”

A puzzled frown marred Obi-Wan's forehead as he studied Qui-Gon's face, as if the words were a foreign language.

The confusion faded away and a hopeful glint lit Obi-Wan's eye. “You are not pleased with his body. You need another.”

“Obi-Wan, I don't want anything from you. I'm just grateful you're alive.” Qui-Gon wanted desperately to hug him, to hold him close and feel his beating heart, but he feared to initiate physical contact until Obi-Wan  _understood._

“You don't have to take,” Obi-Wan breathed, a hand lightly squeezing his own throat before trailing away, “I  _give._ ”

Anakin sensed the fury that exploded in Qui-Gon's soul, a vicious indignation against Xanatos for taking someone injured, someone vulnerable, and  _recrafting_ them into nothing more than a toy. “Master? Is everything alright?” he called through the door.

_No. It very much isn't._ “Stay there, Anakin. There is no danger.”

The damage had already been done.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan followed him down to the front desk, eyes glazed and a drugged smile parting his lips.

_This mission is over_ .

They were going home. Now.

Anakin kept throwing the other suspicious glances, but Obi-Wan merely smiled amiably at him in return.

As they walked for the ship, Obi-Wan leaned close to Qui-Gon and whispered, “I understand why he hates me. He knows you're going to use my body instead of his. But I can share you with him. I  _can please_ you, I was  _made_ to, I can adapt. I am not your Padawan, I understand I have to share you with the one you chose, and I will not begrudge him.”

“That is very magnanimous of you,” Qui-Gon sighed, adjusting the pack on his shoulder to enforce a little distance between Obi-Wan's sashaying and Qui-Gon's own body.

Anakin had undoubtedly heard. “Keep your hands off him, whore.”

“Not anymore,” Obi-Wan replied cheerfully. “I'm kept. I serve  _one_ man now.” His forehead furrowed in thought again before clearing. He sent a dazzling smile Qui-Gon's direction and added, “Unless you wish me to serve others. I will gladly perform if it pleases you. I have learned many things.”

_Force, grant justice for my boy,_ Qui-Gon inwardly wailed.  _Don't let Xanatos sleep easy at night._

A hand brushed down his shoulder to his elbow.

“He doesn't want you  _touching_ him,” Anakin snapped.

Obi-Wan sent him a sideways glance, and Qui-Gon sighed. “Anakin, I don't need you to protect me.”

“You plan to bring him  _with_ us, so clearly, you can't.”

“I understand why you do not trust me,” Obi-Wan replied to the teenager, very serious. “You think I resent you because you have taken my title and place in his heart. You do not need to fear me, however. I know my place. I am only here because Master needs my body, and when it no longer pleases him, I will return to the brothel.”

“What?” Qui-Gon gasped, startled. “No, Obi-Wan. You don't ever have to go back.”

“You will not cut my braid,” Obi-Wan replied, mournful. “This one has it instead. I will give you all I can, until it is no longer enough.”

“Obi-Wan, that's not—”

Fear entered the gray eyes and Obi-Wan paused in the middle of the path, his shoulders curling forward. “You will not even let me try to please you?” he whispered. “I have learned so many skills for you— some, even, that Xan says I didn't know before.”

Any relief Qui-Gon had experienced at Xanatos being alive after all turned sour and died.

Either this was another lie Xanatos had fed an injured mind, or...

_Or he took you, before breaking you the rest of the way so he could rebuild you into the image he wished in order to avenge himself on me._

“Listen to me. You are very pleasing to me, Obi-Wan—”  _Force, Anakin, gagging is so juvenile, can't you see he's in pain?_ — “and I will not be parted from you.”

Obi-Wan searched his gaze, looking for a lie, and then relief eased his tension away. He didn't regain his floaty content, but he lost most of the fear and heartache.

Some still remained.

And that some hurt Qui-Gon in a way nothing ever had before.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra Warning:
> 
> This chapter will begin to introduce unresearched withdrawal symptoms (severe ones) for an imaginary drug.

 

He didn't look good.

Qui-Gon eyed his former apprentice with concern, noting the purple lines leading outwards from his eyes, moving up his fingers from the nail beds, and crawling up his throat from the shirt collar.

Anakin refused to share his clothing, so Obi-Wan was wearing one of Qui-Gon's tunics. It was fantastically too large, but Qui-Gon was almost relieved of it because it allowed him to see _where_ the purple lines were originating from.

A point on his back.

Obi-Wan had obeyed when Qui-Gon ordered all of them to sleep, had submitted to being placed in Qui-Gon's room while Qui-Gon slept on the floor of Anakin's small room.

That was the  _one_ thing the current Padawan didn't complain about. The former Padawan had looked worried, but he had submitted.

This morning he just looked miserable.

“How are you feeling?” Qui-Gon asked.

Obi-Wan's hand shook as it reached for the glass of water he'd been given. “I can endure it.”

Anakin sent the first glance in Obi-Wan's direction of the day, and then startled, eyes going wide.

_So it's not just me. He's visibly ill._ “Have you been poisoned?”

“Rather the opposite, I think,” Obi-Wan chuckled dismissively. “There were drugs in the brothels. I have an implant, but it's keyed to dose me only when certain chemical markers can be found in me. I haven't— I haven't been productive in two days, so it's withholding until I start working again.”

Qui-Gon stared at him in horror. “What a hellish device.”

“It works, and it's never overdosed me,” Obi-Wan replied, confused.

“And what about when you  _don't_ want sex?” Qui-Gon challenged.

Purple-streaked eyes widened. “When I don't?” he squeaked.

Qui-Gon felt his own face burn crimson, and he turned to busy himself with preparing breakfast.  _Oh, Force._

The dream last night hadn't helped. The dream of Obi-Wan, smiling, cuddled in his arms. It would have felt like a normal dream, except... dream Obi-Wan had been naked and impaled on Qui-Gon's fingers.

Qui-Gon had awoken several hours before ship's dawn, disgruntled and alarmed, and hadn't risked falling asleep again. At least he hadn't been aroused— things were bad enough without.

Just... very confused. And alarmed.

“I am always ready to please you,” Obi-Wan explained, gravely.

Anakin scowled. “You're disgusting.”  
“Anakin, be civil,” Qui-Gon replied, the instinct near-automatic.

Obi-Wan fidgeted with the collar of the tunic as if it might be constricting his throat, when it most certainly was  _not._ Shivers passed through him and his eyes went just a little glassy.

_Withdrawal._

Qui-Gon could sense terrible suffering behind Obi-Wan's flimsy shields.

_Enough._

He moved back to the table and planted his hands on it, leaning over it. Anakin leaned back out of the way, but the move certainly did its job and caught Obi-Wan's attention fully. “We don't have the facilities to take you through a cold stop on what you're addicted to. And we don't even know what it  _is,_ if it's even safe to try it that way. So go to the bathroom, take care of yourself, fill your system with the right chemical triggers, and come back once some of the pain has eased.”

_Am I really telling him to go pleasure himself?_

Yes.

Obi-Wan's pained eyes blinked, then he shook his head, the Force feeling foggy around him. “It's not the right ones. Some of them, yes, but I need— the one— the  _cuddle_ one—”

“Dopamine?” Anakin guessed.

Qui-Gon had been terrible in biological chemistry, so Anakin might be wrong as hell and he'd never know it.

“I can't get it on my own,” Obi-Wan mumbled. “There's no soft fluffy tookas to cuddle, and there's no one taking care of me, touching me.”

Anakin perked up. “If I find a soft fluffy animal you won't have to frip my master?”  
“It's not as much, but the low level can take the edge off the... off...”

_And he's losing concentration._ Qui-Gon moved around the table and physically eased Obi-Wan up from the chair. “Alright, Padawan. Let's go. I'll hold you once you're done.”

“ _Master,_ ” Anakin whined.

Qui-Gon sent him a glare. “Enough, you.”

“Please you, please you so much,” Obi-Wan mumbled. “I'll be so good. You'll never send me away again.”

“Never,” Qui-Gon murmured back, helping him take difficult, weaving steps towards the refresher. “Do you have the things you need in your bag?”  
“Yes.”

“Then you'll sit in the tub while I go get them, alright?”

“Perfect for you.”

“You are that, Obi-Wan.”

A smile like a sunbeam lit Obi-Wan's face through the fog of confusion.

Qui-Gon eased Obi-Wan into the empty tub, then fetched the bag and returned. He fished out the bottle of slick, placed it in the tub beside Obi-Wan, and then let himself out of the bathroom and returned to breakfast.

Half an hour later he tapped at the door of the bathroom. “Obi-Wan?”  
Silence.

“Obi-Wan, I'm going to come in now. If you can, cover up please.”

Still no response.

A flurry of alarmed disgust battered at Qui-Gon's shields from Anakin.

_And what would be so traumatic for you if I_ did  _sleep with him?_ Qui-Gon wanted to retort back. Anakin was in love with neither of them, so this was simple cockblocking. And  _rude._

Even if Qui-Gon had no intention of accepting Obi-Wan's willing offers.

Qui-Gon stepped into the bathroom, then froze in alarm as he saw the lube hadn't been touched. Obi-Wan hadn't moved an inch, but his head lay back against the edge of the tub as his body trembled with what looked like a fever, and Obi-Wan's eyes stared glassily at nothing.

_He's past being able to help himself._

Qui-Gon closed the door, knowing Anakin was going to be  _unlivable_ the next few days. He closed off that connection to his Padawan, but that in itself was too much of an admission for the teenager to let pass.

There would be consequences, later. Not from the elder to the younger.

Qui-Gon peeled himself out of his tunics and knelt on the floor beside Obi-Wan. He pressed his wrist to Obi-Wan's forehead, found it dangerously warm.

Emergency measures, then. Qui-Gon pulled open the sink drawer to grab a fever pill, then paused.

_I still don't know what's in him, or how it would react with anything else._

Fine. They would do this the old-fashioned way.

Qui-Gon eased Obi-Wan out of the baggy clothing, gently placing him back down in the tub. Then he started the water.

It was recycled. Several times over, of course. Not particularly nice, but it wasn't  _dangerous,_ and it certainly wouldn't conflict with Obi-Wan's personal cocktail. The water soothed across Obi-Wan's skin, slowly drawing away heat with it. Qui-Gon brushed Obi-Wan's cheekbone with his thumb, then gently washed his hair and combed it.

Perhaps the “cuddle chemicals” would be enough to draw some mercy from the implant.

Qui-Gon kept at it until the fever went down. The trembling didn't ease, and the eyes still looked murky, but Obi-Wan managed to turn his head to look at Qui-Gon.

“Master,” he whispered.

Qui-Gon smiled, feeling exhausted himself, and his knees aching from the unforgiving floor. “Hello again.”

“Hurt so much, Master.”

“I know, Obi-Wan. Can you touch yourself? Can you get those chemicals in your blood to be detected?”

Obi-Wan's hand slipped to his naked groin. Qui-Gon popped the cap of the lube, dribbled some onto the addict's fingers.

Qui-Gon pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan's forehead.

Obi-Wan tried, he really did. He managed to coax an erection, even to thrust a couple times into his own hand, but he didn't have the strength for more. He sagged back against the tub wall, breathing labored and not from pleasure.

“S-sorry,” he rasped, trying to focus on Qui-Gon's face.

Qui-Gon grabbed a towel and lifted the near-limp body into his arms, wrapping him up. “It's alright,” he crooned. “It's alright, Obi-Wan. We'll survive this. We'll get you through this.”

The master carried Obi-Wan to Qui-Gon's room, grateful Anakin was nowhere in sight.

Qui-Gon placed Obi-Wan in the bed, then crawled under the sheets behind him, wrapping his arms around the suffering one's middle.

“Sleep,” he murmured, and Obi-Wan obeyed.

Qui-Gon pressed a kiss to the back of his head, and allowed sleep to claim him as well.

Hopefully, this would be enough.

 

* * *  
  


Obi-Wan was lucid when they awoke from their several-hour nap. He was pale, purple-streaked and in quiet pain, but aware.

They returned to the kitchen— Obi-Wan clothed again— and Qui-Gon made them both tea.

It was an awkward silence they sat in, sipping from the warmed cups.

“You didn't touch me,” Obi-Wan murmured at last.

Qui-Gon shook his head in silence.

“Even when you knew it would help me. You really do not want my body.”

Oh, that was not true at all. “You are very attractive, Obi-Wan.”  
“Not enough.” Obi-Wan sighed into his cup and took another sip. “You wouldn't even frip me for pity. I'm too damaged for you.”

“What? That's not it at all, Obi-Wan.”

“You don't think I can give consent. That I'm too damaged to give consent.”

That shut Qui-Gon up.

“I was listening,” Obi-Wan mumbled. “And I looked up some words on the datapad in your room when you were with Anakin.”

_Wanting to understand me. To please me._

“Obi-Wan, I don't want to hurt you any more.”

Eyes poisoned with purple pain flicked to him, then away.

_I can't imagine how disingenuous that sounds from his perspective right about now._

“It's alright,” Obi-Wan murmured. “You'd rather I be in pain. I can bear it prettily for your sake. I'll be quiet.”

Horror seized Qui-Gon. “That is not true.”

“I'm an adult. I want you. I'm asking you to have sex with me, to use me, to take away this  _pain._ ”

“I—”

“My body is no longer what you desire,” Obi-Wan finished. “And I will not force you to do something so clearly distasteful.” There was just a hint of bitterness at the end, stemming from the confusion he carried.

_Believing I_ did  _want him in the past and now I don't, no wonder he's confused and bitter._

“If I have sex with you until we get back to the Temple, Obi-Wan, it would just be temporary, and to relieve your pain. If once you've healed more you resented me for what I did... then I would do what it would take to pay for my mistake.”  _If you never wish to see me again because you finally see how terrible a betrayal this would be... I would go, stay away, let you live your life._

But what if he  _hurt him more_ ? What if, years after Obi-Wan escaped the addiction and the lies Xanatos wove around him, Qui-Gon's acceptance, willingness to touch and be touched  _still rankled_ ?

Would short-term relief inflict long-term harm?

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon held out another three days, spending much of his time holding Obi-Wan close to keep the implant offering just a little taste of what Obi-Wan needed.

Obi-Wan  _did_ pleasure himself in the bathroom alone at one point, but it didn't seem to help much. He left looking more tired and miserable than when he went in.  
Qui-Gon fell asleep curled around the smaller man, knees bent and tucked up behind Obi-Wan's own, Obi-Wan's pained breathing pushing back into Qui-Gon's chest.

But despite their physical closeness, despite Obi-Wan's lonely desire for him wafting through the Force, despite how lovely and attractive a man Qui-Gon found the other to be...

He couldn't. He was sorry, but he couldn't.

So he held his precious Obi-Wan and felt the guilt that he couldn't do this for him, and felt the guilt that he was considering it at all, and knew what it was to feel disgust for himself no matter which way he chose to go.

It was that third night that something shifted.

Obi-Wan's desperate dreams, fueled by his body's alarm at not having been touched in “so long”— something Qui-Gon doubted had been possible since Xanatos pulled him from the refuse— and added to by his painful need for the implant, slipped over into Qui-Gon's own dreams.

It was only after Qui-Gon awoke, eyelids flying open, that he realized the erotic images and moans had come from Obi-Wan's own unconscious mind.

Qui-Gon realized that somewhere in the night, he had pressed his thigh up between Obi-Wan's legs, and that Obi-Wan had accepted the invasion of his side of the bed.

And also...

Qui-Gon's cock pressed, alert and interested, against Obi-Wan's ass.

_Can I pull away without waking him?_ And worse...  _Should I?_

Obi-Wan pressed back, the movement cautious and gentle, just in case he might be rebuffed.

_You're awake._

And aware.

Obi-Wan scooted himself down a bit, to press himself against Qui-Gon's thigh. A quiet breath hissed into his throat.

Somehow, that sound roused Qui-Gon the rest of the way, and Obi-Wan turned in his arms, eyes wide in the dark, his Force presence hesitant and afraid.

Qui-Gon leaned in, capturing Obi-Wan's lips with his own.

_I guess I'm doing this._

Obi-Wan pressed forward, offering pleasure and gathering it in return as he rubbed his hips into Qui-Gon's.

_Forgive me if this is wrong._

But no more hesitancy between paths: he was doing this.

Decision made, the last of the reticence disappeared, and Qui-Gon gathered Obi-Wan up in his strong arms and pulled him up on top of him as he rolled onto his back.

 

* * *  
  


His Master was strong.

Obi-Wan worshiped his biceps with loving fingers, impressed. He leaned forward again to peck a shy kiss on Qui-Gon's mouth.

And oh—  _oh—_ his hands—

One of them, calloused and sweet, sheathed him, pressed his length against Qui-Gon's in a warm, gentle grip. Obi-Wan's head tipped back, breath catching, offering his throat.

Qui-Gon reared up to claim it, pressing kisses to his skin and scraping his teeth lightly down it.

_He wants my neck._

The thought had Obi-Wan shuddering with relief.

_Oh, Force, he_ wants _me._

A flash of joy surged through him, and Obi-Wan lost all patience. Qui-Gon had clearly intended to make him feel good in a slow way, but Obi-Wan's bright charge met with no resistance and quite a little enthusiasm as each tasted the other's mouth as if it were the only chance, as if time itself were against them.

There was little finesse; in fact, Xanatos probably would have been disappointed in him, a bit. But this wasn't a _show._ It wasn't like the other times, and Obi-Wan wanted this for _himself,_ just _now, Qui-Gon, all of Qui-Gon_ over _all_ of Obi-Wan _._

 

_* * *  
_

Qui-Gon found himself startled by the urgency and worshiping fingers.

Obi-Wan's presence in the Force whimpered that this was so much more than just a desire to get off, or for the pain to go away, or even than to prove himself useful and pleasing.

The original show, to prove his value, had faltered and disappeared.

This Obi-Wan was asking, desperately, for something from Qui-Gon.

To meet his soul, instead of a drawn-out display.

Qui-Gon found his own heart needed the reassurance of it. It whispered of something more than just what Obi-Wan had been told he was  _meant_ for.

A probing finger against Obi-Wan's entrance told Qui-Gon that the man in his bed hadn't been feeling well— or enthusiastic— enough to prepare himself daily anymore.

That didn't keep the nerves around his anus from being responsive and delighted at the touch.

So responsive, that at their gentle pushing, Obi-Wan came with a little huffy  _eep_ in Qui-Gon's other hand _,_ nothing at all like the showy moans he'd been demonstrating back at the hotel.

Obi-Wan plundered Qui-Gon's mouth all through his shudders, and kept licking into him afterwards as well, even as his hand fumbled for Qui-Gon's cock.

“Sorry,” Obi-Wan whispered before diving back into Qui-Gon's mouth.

Qui-Gon took his face in both hands, Obi-Wan's head seeming small against the size of the older man's hands. “Don't apologize. You are perfect.”

Qui-Gon reached a hand down, soothed Obi-Wan's urgent pulling at his cock, shifting the rhythm into what Qui-Gon needed to reach his peak.

His other hand kept hold of Obi-Wan's head, drawing them back together, foreheads connecting, breaths mingling.

Qui-Gon came with a quiet grunt, and Obi-Wan's head snapped down to watch in awe.

“I did that,” he whispered, reaching out to trail his finger through Qui-Gon's come. “You let me do that.”

Qui-Gon pulled him close, heedless of the mess, and straightened the loose nightclothes a bit. He held Obi-Wan close to his chest, so Obi-Wan could hear his heartbeat, and lay back, pressing kisses into Obi-Wan's hair.

Obi-Wan hummed and wriggled closer into him. “Master,” he whispered, sounding close to tears.

In the Force, content hung about him like a beautiful robe.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon replied. _Precious. Survivor. Beautiful._

And for a month until they reached home...

_Mine._

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

“You fripped him.” There was something vulnerable in Anakin's tone that seemed odd to Qui-Gon.

Instead of brushing it off as he'd planned, the master sat down and watched the teen who wouldn't make eye contact with him. “Pretty gross, huh?”  
“ _No,_ ” Anakin scoffed. “Heard worse, years ago.” His finger worried at the top of the table, as if he wanted to wear a groove into it.

Qui-Gon leaned back in the chair, settling in to wait him out.

Anakin's gaze flicked to him, noted the siege prep, and his shoulders hunched up. Instead of rubbing the table, his pointer finger jabbed down onto the same place again and again—

It had to hurt, so clearly Anakin was enduring a spectacular level of pressure within the confines of his own head.

“He's... a slave, you know. _Your_ slave,” Anakin muttered at last. “And... he can't... he doesn't even know what it means. He thinks he's normal, and you're letting him...”

Anakin's head ducked, and his voice turned raw. “I can't help wonder if it was me, if you'd... touch  _me,_ if I couldn't remember, and had been retrained and was collared to you and didn't think I was good for anything else.”  
“Oh,” Qui-Gon rasped.

“It's just  _wrong_ ,” Anakin exploded with, launching to his feet and sending the chair toppling over backwards. “Okay? You're supposed to  _protect_ him, and you're  _just like them!_ ”

Anakin stormed out of the room, and though Qui-Gon wanted to call after him, he didn't have anything to  _say._

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan, startled by Anakin's outburst and not completely understanding what the problem was, kept his back flat against the wall of the small corridor. Instead of approaching to obtain food like he'd intended...

He retreated back to Qui-Gon's room to think and try to figure out what any of Anakin's words had meant.

 

* * *

 

He hadn't figured it out, but his cock had become very excited at the thought of Qui-Gon  _actually_ fripping him. He cleaned himself out and stretched his muscles using his fingers and a toy, careful to keep his breaths quiet so that it would be a surprise.

He wasn't dressed in anything fancy when Qui-Gon arrived— it wasn't early enough to be time to go to bed, so it had to be to retrieve something— but Obi-Wan decided he couldn't wait any longer.

And he'd suffered quite enough the last few days, so pleasure seemed a very appropriate occupation for the foreseeable future.

He dropped Qui-Gon's bathrobe, revealing his body to his master.

Qui-Gon backpedaled, looking alarmed.

“Master,” Obi-Wan purred, following.

“No, Obi-Wan!” Qui-Gon snapped, and then he bolted out of the cabin.

Obi-Wan froze in horror, shocked at the raised voice.

And then he knew.

Whatever those mysterious words Anakin had used  _meant,_ they had resulted in Qui-Gon rejecting Obi-Wan.

Again.

Throwing on some clothes, Obi-Wan fled to the cargo bay, sitting on the floor beside a crate and allowing the tears to rip through him however they would.

 

* * *

 

The ship was far too small.

Qui-Gon was out and prowling and Anakin didn't want to see him.

So instead, he crept into the cargo hold. The door had no sooner shut than he heard the sounds of someone trying to stop crying, as swiftly as possible.

Anakin spun around and found Obi-Wan curled up, eyes miserable and watching him, a sleeve swiping at the last of his tears.

“It's... it's okay,” Anakin said at last, hating the fear he could read in Obi-Wan's eyes as the older creature looked at him. “I'm not going to hurt you.” And, given the turmoil and discomfort Qui-Gon was experiencing, that Anakin could feel through their bond... “And I think he won't touch you again.”

Dull, tear-swollen eyes watched him. “Why do you hate me so much?”

“I— don't  _hate_ you,” Anakin protested. “I just... you can't  _consent_ to him. You're not capable of it, and it's just not  _right,_ what he's doing to you, if you can't actually say yes.”

“ _Frip you!_ ” Obi-Wan screeched, and it had Anakin reeling back in shock. “Until you've _paid_ for me you have _no right_ to decide who I should or should not bed! My _body_ is the one thing I have left— you've _taken_ everything else that once was mine— why would you _take my choice_ from me too? What did I _ever_ do to you? I _want_ him and he wants _me,_ and you just can't _stand_ to let me have _anything_ left!”

Anakin couldn't believe his ears. “That's not— Obi-Wan, you had a  _parent-child_ relationship with him before! If you had your memories back, you'd be  _thanking me_ !”

“You don't  _fripping_ know that!” Obi-Wan yelled back at him. “And am I not supposed to  _live_ because  _some other me_ might not like it? What is it you  _want_ from me? Do you want to frip me too? Is that it? Is that the price you require to let me love Qui-Gon in peace?”

Anakin's jaw dropped. “What? I would  _never_ use someone against their will like that! I was a slave, once!”

“Then you should know that  _love_ is the one thing a slave has for their own!” Obi-Wan struggled to his feet, and stormed past Anakin to the door. “You're cruel. And you're a dick.”

Anakin stared after him in bewilderment as Obi-Wan stormed away.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

In the end, it was Anakin who approached Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan's hopeless fury and confusion had gotten to him.

Especially... that point about slave love.

So though Obi-Wan had avoided contact with either of them like a plague, and had refused to eat anything...

Qui-Gon experienced enough emotional turbulence of his own to last the whole ride home.

He couldn't quite argue with Anakin's points.  _Either_ time.

But at least the boy was willing to change tack when he decided he'd been previously wrong. It was a skill Qui-Gon had feared Anakin might not possess.

In the end, it was watching Obi-Wan slumbering in the airlock—  _why_ the airlock of all places?— that moved him to open it up, gather the exhausted man into his arms, and carry him back to bed.

It had been cold, in the space between spaces, so even though it was a bit early, Qui-Gon crawled into bed behind him and snuggled him close.

_My poor, precious Obi-Wan. You have suffered far too much._

And when Obi-Wan awoke in the morning, he swift discovered his time of loneliness was over.

 

* * *

 

Burning lips caressed Qui-Gon's own, a warm, pink tongue made love to Qui-Gon's mouth.

Qui-Gon held the smaller body tight up against his own, one hand cupping one of the globes of Obi-Wan's ass to support him, the other gripping his back. Obi-Wan's legs, wrapped around his middle, held tight, as if Obi-Wan meant to never let him go.

Qui-Gon had assumed Obi-Wan would try to push them into sex again, since that seemed to be most of what occupied Obi-Wan's mind space, but it had become clear he was only seeking kisses and holding.

In desperate need of reassurance.

_Since sex has resulted in whiplash reactions from me,_ Qui-Gon thought, regretful.

A noise chimed from within Obi-Wan's satchel of personal...  _things._

Obi-Wan froze.

And then he peeled himself off of Qui-Gon and scrabbled through the bag, retrieving and activating the holocomm.

“Xani!” Obi-Wan cried, beaming with joy.

Qui-Gon's gut flipped over.

Xanatos offered Obi-Wan a charming smile. “You look rather well-kissed, Obi.”

Qui-Gon flinched. The Obi-Wan he remembered had hated any shortening of his name.

Obi-Wan looked radiant.

“If you don't mind, I need to speak with Qui-Gon in private, love. Can you keep yourself busy for a time?” There was a lurking insinuation in that voice, a filth that left Qui-Gon's guts in knots.

An equally lascivious smirk crossed Obi-Wan's face. He stood, handed the disc to Qui-Gon, and shoved his hand down the front of his trousers before sauntering out of the room.

Watching the transformation from the desperate to be loved man who devoured Qui-Gon's kisses like his life depended on them, to the vacant-eyed whore... _hurt._

“What do you want?” Qui-Gon hissed, staring at the miniature Xanatos.

“I'm surprised you haven't severed his braid yet.” The raven-haired cruelty arched an eyebrow at his former master. “You must be quite frustrated with his insistence.”

Qui-Gon bristled. “You think I would _kill_ him for convenience?”

“No, I think you've been fondling him. Making sure he's well-drugged, sated and willing and fripped.”

“How can you tolerate the person you are?” Qui-Gon demanded. “To take  _that man,_ so vulnerable, so  _in need_ of just an  _ounce_ of kindness, and  _destroy_ him?”  
Xanatos chuckled. “I'm sure Obi would be hurt to hear you think he's  _destroyed._ ”

“What  _game_ are you trying to play? It's  _me_ you hate!”

“Actually.” Xanatos' voice hardened into venom. “He replaced me in your affections. I'm just showing you what a little whore he's always  _been._ He'd be so  _good,_ do  _everything_ you said, wormed his way into the place that was  _mine._ ”

Disgust flooded Qui-Gon. “You looked at a child, and hated him for searching for a place that you'd thrown away as worthless. He wanted your table scraps, the leavings you'd abandoned in disgust, and it's  _only_ because of his interest that you gave them another thought. You are greedy and without empathy beneath that beautiful exterior. And you know what? Even after everything Obi-Wan has faced, has  _endured,_ there is a  _decency_ in him that you've never understood. His heart is gentle and kind, and unspeakably  _brave._ Yes. I have taken this man into my bed, and if he can find a few moments of peace and happiness out of the  _hell_ that has been his life, then  _frip you_ for thinking he shouldn't have it!”

Qui-Gon killed the connection before Xanatos had a chance to say a word, and when the light flashed again, Qui-Gon muted it.

It would drive Xanatos mad to not have been allowed the last word.

_He'll find a way to reassert himself._

But until then, Qui-Gon had an Obi-Wan to seek out.

 

* * *

 

It took a while, to draw Obi-Wan out of the trained stupor speaking with Xanatos had sent him into. What pained Qui-Gon most was that Obi-Wan didn't even notice something had changed.

He seemed very glad to have heard from his benefactor, the man who had returned him back to Qui-Gon. And oh, he would be good, so  _good_ for his Master Jinn—

And Qui-Gon simply kissed away his words, captured frantically grabbing hands and kissed them too, every inch of their skin, and then he gathered Obi-Wan close and reminded Obi-Wan how  _good_ kisses felt in and of themselves, how sensitive his mouth was, how receptive.

And little by little, the poison of Xanatos bled away until only Obi-Wan, precious, wounded Obi-Wan, remained.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

**Three Weeks Later**

 

Qui-Gon was relieved to be home.

So was Anakin, of course. He'd happily bolted from the ship, relieved by the possibility of  _ not  _ being in the vicinity to sense or hear or  _ smell  _ so much sex.

Qui-Gon's joints ached. There had been times when Obi-Wan had surged up beside him, desperate for sex, and Qui-Gon's body just  _ couldn't _ . They'd already been doing so  _ much _ of it, and Qui-Gon was no teenager anymore.

Neither was Obi-Wan, but nobody seemed to have told his bounce back time that.

Sex  _ every single day  _ wasn't really what Qui-Gon's body could take. He wasn't even sure he  _ wanted  _ it  _ that  _ often. But Obi-Wan sought him out, so Qui-Gon would deflect hands that wanted to touch, and instead redirected Obi-Wan into pleasuring himself while Qui-Gon stroked his back, or Qui-Gon would assist Obi-Wan into orgasm without allowing his own—  _ very  _ exhausted— dick to be touched.

Given the  _ look  _ Qui-Gon's best friend leveled him with as he disembarked from the ship, Mace seemed to  _ know  _ how much action his friend had been seeing. Qui-Gon felt his skin grow pink in response, and turned to offer his hand to Obi-Wan.

But instead of taking it, Obi-Wan scuttled down the ramp, bag handles gripped primly in his hands before his stomach, and stopped at the exact place, a step back and to the side of Qui-Gon, where a padawan's rightful place was.

If he hadn't been wearing slashed harem pants and a billowy shirt that was designed to  _ not  _ conceal anything, it might have even looked innocent.

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon was already in the Council chamber, and waiting, concerned, for Obi-Wan to join them.

_ I should never have let him convince me to head on in before him. _

Though really, to chase Obi-Wan into the refresher?

_ I have to let him have  _ some  _ autonomy. _

The Council door slid open again, and Obi-Wan entered, arms full of something.

Once in the center of the room he set the thing down on the floor with evident satisfaction, stood up straight, and then bowed to everyone in the room.

Twelve pairs of eyes turned to Qui-Gon for translation.

He looked to Obi-Wan. “...What is that, Obi-Wan?”

“A bench, Master.”

“Where did you get it from?”

“I found it,” he beamed.

And then he dropped his scanty garment, and he had  _ nothing  _ on underneath— there were a few yelps around the room— and then Obi-Wan climbed the bench, spread his legs and braced. “I'm ready. Who is first?”  
Qui-Gon's mind reeled, even as he saw how prepared and loose Obi-Wan's exposed entrance was. As if he'd prepared to be gang banged by the Council.

“Obi-Wan...” his voice was just a bit hoarse, “what do you think is happening here?”

“I've been called in to give a report,” Obi-Wan answered, eyes self-assured. “Clearly a euphemism, and I am prepared to service each and every one until they are satisfied. Do not be alarmed, Master. Group takings can be very enjoyable if it is not by cruel beings, and you specifically told me these beings aren't cruel. I've been looking forward to it, I'm all stretched and ready. I'm a bit of a crowd slut, Master.”

The alarming combination saturating the Force was arousal plus dismayed horror.

“Jedi Kenobi, you may not remember me,” Mace spoke up. “I am Jedi Master Mace Windu.”  
“I do not remember,” Obi-Wan confirmed, “but whatever your preferences, I will re-learn them quickly.”

A troubled furrow marred Mace's brow, and Qui-Gon wished for a silent, merciful death.

Mace continued with a gentle,“You are most impressive, young one.”

Obi-Wan looked surprised and pleased with the compliment.

“But when we said we wanted to hear what you have to say... we really wanted to hear what you have to say.”

Now  _ Obi-Wan  _ was the one looking startled. He didn't move, but his fingers gripped the bench a bit tighter. “Oh? I don't remember anything, except Xani pulling me from the wreckage—” a full-body shudder, and not one of pleasure, seized him. “And then it's murky. There was so much  _ pain. _ ” He paused, visibly trying to collect himself. “And then there was Xani and the brothel, and we worked on getting me ready to come back home. I rejoined Master Qui-Gon, and he saved me.”

_ Oh, boy. _ “Obi-Wan... our journey, pleasurable though it was, doesn't have to be turned into a hero narrative.”

“Alright. I rejoined Master Qui-Gon, and all of my emptinesses—” he paused, realized that sounded extravagant too— “I— we fripped all the way home. And it was really good. And now we're here. Is that— what you were looking for, Master Windu?”

Qui-Gon locked a sigh within himself as he felt silent snickers in the Force through the room.

“Thank you, Jedi Kenobi. Master Jinn, do you have anything to add?” Windu prompted, and there was a devilish gleam in his eyes.

Qui-Gon grimaced, then decided enough was enough. “Yes. The memory loss he speaks of I do not believe is entirely of his injury's cause, and I would very much like him tested to see just what the subcutaneous drug dispenser is giving him.”

And  _ that  _ sapped the mirth right out of the room to be replaced, instead, with concerned care for Obi-Wan.

 

 


End file.
